


One More Night

by 25jaefm



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, M/M, Open Ending, boxer!Pete
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-26 04:28:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6223825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/25jaefm/pseuds/25jaefm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fic based off Maroon 5's "One More Night" music video.</p><p>Pete's a boxer, and Patrick wants what's best for himself and their baby. Even if it means leaving.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One More Night

**Author's Note:**

> This is the second fic I've written, unedited. I watched the music video and immediately had a big want to write a short fic based on it. I hope you like it, comments are greatly wanted and appreciated!

“See you two later, love you!”

The door shut with a harsh click as Pete walked out, tank top, Levi’s and all. 

Tonight was a big fight, one that would make or break this month’s rent. Patrick was sick of it.

He watched out the window with a tight smile and a wave, thin, white, lace curtains interlocked with his hand more tightly than usual. Baby girl on his hip, a year old.

Patrick frowned to himself when Pete’s car turned the corner, grip on the curtain loosening. Moving quickly to put Jasmine in her high-chair. A cherry wood, decorated with flower petal cushion that Patrick had picked out months before she arrived to them.

He grabbed the hidden cardboard boxes from the hall closest and began packing.

Grabbing his clothes out of the closet, out of his half of the drawer. Taking a moment to look at himself in the mirror, tucking a piece of overgrown hair behind his ear, it coming back up immediately.

One sigh and a glance at the gold band on his finger, furrowing his brow for a moment before taking it off and setting it on the dresser.

Turning his back before really thinking about it, moving to fill another box.

Making his way back to the living room, kissing Jasmine on her forehead. Looking back at the half eaten breakfast on the table, the hint of steak still in the air.

He had a quick movement to dump it out before continuing, leaving the fork and knife to soak in the sink. Paper plate in the garbage. The smell made him feel sick.

Jasmine sat watching curiously, half smile on her face. Babbling and playing with her toy Patrick had given her for distraction.

Her black hair in contrast with light skin, eye’s as dark as Pete’s. She looked like both of them, which was weird, considering she was a product of surrogacy. Patrick’s sperm the one being used. 

It was almost funny that she looked more like Pete.

He went back to packing, taking a toy at a time. Packing her clothes in with it. 

She had a couple boxes worth of clothes and toys to pack. Patrick needed two the same.

He let packing and moving quickly distract him from this decision. Knowing Pete wouldn’t be back until after the fight.

This morning had been acted out so well, he almost felt bad. Almost.

Pete’s trophies covered pictures of them on the bookshelf, reminding Patrick yet again about why he was doing this.

He took his favorite books from the shelf, ones that seemed worth packing and taking to Chicago.

He missed his home state, and he knew he had his Mom waiting there for him when he would arrive. Chicago sounded like home and made Patrick feel safer, more right about this decision.

-  
In a couple hours, he was done. 

Pete would still be training for tonight’s fight, Patrick could settle for a few more hours. Though, he wanted to get home as fast as he could.

So, he got dressed, got Jasmine dressed and packed their stuff in his Station Wagon.

Making sure to make her a few sippy cups and to pack snacks. 

The drive would be a long one.

Jasmine was still as bubbly as ever, smiling and laughing when Patrick tickled her and asked if she was ready to go on a long ride.

He ran back inside to take one last look and to grab his keys, letting out a deep breath. Sad that he let the held back opinions turn into hatred for Pete. 

The trophies taunted him, and he hated them. Grabbing them and throwing all on the floor, all of it feeling like time had slowed down. Letting a shaky breath out before locking the door and making his way to the car.

Pulling out after turning it on, not taking one last look at their cute, settled, small home. Emptier than it was this morning. Four big boxes packed in the back, along with a duffle bag, Pete’s old one.

-  
Joel got him good in the jaw, a few times actually.

Pete found himself having trouble breathing with the last blow, but he had won. 

He smiled and cheered with the crowd, mouth aching, eyes in tears. He fucking won.

He was worn out, bloody and sore. All of this was worth it though.

He jumped out of the ring and jogged his way to the locker room. Panting and keeping his gaze at the ground, feeling people pat his back, telling him it was a good round. That they were proud of them.

All Pete really wanted to do was get back to Patrick now, and Jasmine. He wanted to get home, and snuggle with the loves of his life on the couch. 

After a quick wash off, he got dressed in the clothes he wore when he got here. Feeling someone behind him.

Turning his back and smirking a little, seeing his manager with an envelope. Filled with money, a lot of money.

Money that could buy him a nice dinner with his Husband.

Money that could buy Jasmine new outfits and more toys.

He drove home, tired, with a ghost smile on his face. Rancid on the stereo, making his hands drum the wheel as he drove home.

Making it back, he opened the door. Smile quickly fading. 

Duffle dropping to his side as he stared at the empty space.

Eyebrows furrowed as his heart beat faster in is chest. He ran to the bedroom, seeing the open empty drawers. The half empty closet.

No.

He ran back out to the living room, seeing his trophies on the ground, along with cracked pictures of him and Patrick.

Pete felt lost, confused, broken.

He barely noticed that Patrick’s car was gone, he looked out the window to confirm and felt his chest tighten. The streetlamp on his street was off, broken, going to be prepared tomorrow.

A sob wracked his body as he turned back to the pale room, sliding down on the ground and letting out a choked sob. Covering his face with his hands.

-  
Their last fight had been a week ago, Jasmine was fast asleep, it was late.

Pete’s last fight was a loss, and Patrick was stressed beyond belief. They didn’t have enough money to buy new, needed diapers.

Patrick would go out and get a job, but then no one would be here to watch Jasmine. They couldn’t afford a baby sitter, or a daycare.

“Pete- You can’t- You fucking can’t keep depending on this job!” Patrick said, in the best harsh whisper he could. 

Jasmine was fussy today, he didn’t need to wake her up, it would take ages to put her back down.

“What about your journaling job- I-I thought you loved that, Pete, we were better six months ago.” Patrick pleaded, looking in his eyes as Pete sat silently on the bed.

Boxing was something Pete had accidentally fallen in love with, again. 

He did it in high school and in college, but abandoned it when writing became his vice. Became everything he wanted to do, but after befriending someone in the business. Pete got back in the ring, taking all of his time to practice, and become better than before.

He wanted to box, he wanted it to be part of his life again. He felt normal throwing gloved punches at people’s faces, it was therapy. Something that helped with his mania.

Writing had too, and it paid, but not as much as Pete wanted. When he found out the salary of his buddy, he wanted in.

Too bad you only get paid for winning, something Pete found out the hard way. When he lost four fights in a row and had to get tethered money from his father in Illinois. Pete had never been so humiliated, but he didn’t let that get him down.

Patrick, though, easily, was becoming weary and stressed.

Fights like these were often, and Pete usually ended up ducking out and going to the gym. It was too late for that though, and after a night in the ring, he was exhausted.

“Patrick, look, we’ll just- Ask my Dad to send us some money again and-“

“No! Pete, No! We’re adults- We need to learn to take care of ourselves. I,” Patrick grabbed at his hair, expression tired. He had let his voice rise, and he heard Jasmine’s faint cries.

“Fuck,” He murmured, running a hand over his face, stopping at his mouth and shaking his head at Pete. “She’s awake, great.” He said, sarcasm thick, close to crying as he went to reach for the door.

“No, let me.” Pete said, standing up, grabbing Patrick’s wrist. Patrick turning quickly to look at Pete, frowning.

“Let go of me.” Patrick said, Pete backing off immediately, letting Patrick go. Hearing Jasmines cries down the hall as Patrick opened her door, hearing the soft shushes.

Patrick was always good with her, patient. Like he had been with Pete, until the last couple months.

This job was straining their relationship, but Pete loved boxing. He couldn’t let it go, he decided. Quietly, while taking off his shirt, throwing it in the hamper and climbing into bed, laying to face the ceiling. 

Hearing Jasmine’s music box, Patrick singing quietly to her. He fell asleep to his voice, vaguely thinking about how much he loved them.

-  
Tonight Pete slept alone, on his couch, with his bottle of whiskey. Phone in hand, a glass in the other.

He called Patrick thirty times and counting, he wouldn’t pick up.

Pete had an idea of where he would go, but he wasn’t sure. The liquor hit his throat, warm, burning. His pills sat in the bathroom, he wasn’t going to take them.

He needed to get Patrick back, but he wasn’t sure if it was too late or not. He hoped it was the latter.


End file.
